


The Journalist: The Hook

by lettalady



Series: The Journalist [5]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TJOURN 0.2 -- The Journalist: The Hook shows what happens between our journalist and Tom upon their second meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journalist: The Hook

 

You’ve got your credentials bitten between your teeth as you remove your jacket again. You’ve been able to enjoy a few precious minutes of warmth before discreetly being asked to either move inside or remove the jacket once more. Your job hinges on your manning the carpet so…

Damned dress code.

Damn cameras.

Damn holding a premiere in London in the middle of winter.

You watch your jacket make its way back to the coat check, lamenting its departure with every step the attendant makes. At least for the moment you can’t mutter your thoughts on the matter aloud. That would likely only make matters worse.

Offending jacket removed it is back to concentrating on anything but the chilly air. Maybe if you’d worn something a little less revealing, or a little more wind resistant.

“______!”

You nearly bite a hole in the laminated pass, instead just spitting it out so it flops down to dangle by the lanyard you’ve been given to save the delicate fabric of your dress. What is Tom doing here? This isn’t a premiere for a movie of his. You hadn’t seen his name listed on the confirmed attending list. What was the point of having those things if celebrities just decided to show up regardless?

Tom is striding towards you, oblivious to the chorus of shouts for his attention, a look of excitement and wonder plastered on that vibrant face of his. He’s in a suit, dressed nicely for the event but not so nice to be wearing a tux. Still, the suit is of a good cut and a beautiful color – maybe even one you’ve seen photos of him wearing before.

Wasn’t that a thing with him? Something about having a limited wardrobe. He’s not one to just throw around his money just so he won’t be seen wearing the same thing twice. That would win him bonus points… if you were keeping track. You’ve purposefully not done any additional research on him since your article has been published.

True to your word you had sent over the audio file along with the draft of the article. He had responded far faster than you had anticipated – within the same day – and sent the audio file back to you along with his comments regarding what you had written.

All kudos. No need to respond.

So despite his persistence during the interview it hadn’t gone past that short exchange. He had fallen back into his world, and you, yours – at least until the article was due to be published. The day the magazine had hit circulation and your article had been posted online he had sent flowers. _Well_ – you had admitted to yourself as you admired the flower choice, smiling and relegating the vase to the corner of your desk – _he’d probably gotten someone to send flowers on his behalf._

It’s harder to maintain that professional barrier when facing him. “Son of a--- hello again, Tom.” You greet him as he steps closer. He’s glancing down – examining your outfit? Is it your imagination or do his eyes linger over your little black dress that’s a little too short and made of a material a little too thin?

Of course not. No. At least, not at the moment. Right now he’s looking at your credentials and the nice teeth marks that create a crescent along one side of the badge. “Interesting way to interview. I really hope someone caught that on film.”

You make a face, touching your fingertips to the edge of the credentials before dropping your hand down to your side once more. “Don’t worry. Someone probably did. Hard not to – this many cameras.”

You can see your coworker trying to make his way through the crowd to regain his post by your side. He had tried to worm his way further down the carpet to see how he could fair at snagging the stars as they arrived and now is frantically waving his hand for you to _HOLD ONTO TOM KEEP HIM THERE_.

Not only an article featuring the elusive Hiddleston, but then capturing a few moments with him at a premiere not long after? Your boss will be thrilled. This is the last big thing he can take credit for as he retires and Sam gains the promotion from Executive Editor to Editor-in-Chief.  Sam may technically have the reins at this point, but the changeover hasn’t fully taken effect yet.

“This is a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t sure it was you, at first. That maybe it was wishful thinking.”

Wishful thinking? You shake your head ever so slightly, checking to see your coworker’s lack of progress through the crowd. You’re still being given frantic hand-motions: Open palm, pointing, open palm, and a silent mouthing of words. _KEEP HIM THERE. KEEP HIM THERE. KEEP HIM THERE._ _I’M GOING TO TRY TO SKIRT THIS WAY…_   

What are you supposed to do? Latch onto him if he tries to walk on or gets pulled back into the fray by his publicist?

“I’m surprised you even saw me over here.” You’re standing on the wrong side of the procession after having been shepherded close to the building to remove the offending additional piece of clothing. It is the right side for being out of the way – but he’s supposed to be looking at the sea of people – the fans and photographers alike.

Tom adjusts his stance as he digs his hands into his trousers pockets. Everybody behind him is probably getting an amazing view of his backend. He’s still solely focused on you. “I told you I’d keep an eye out.”

He had – he’d said the phrase verbatim and you’d laughed it off. What had you told yourself? It was the determined flirtation of an actor trying to ensure the article about him would come across in the best possible light? So what did he have to gain now?

“Hmm, yes. I guess you did.” You move to rub your right hand over your left forearm to try to massage away the goosebumps that are forming. Damn the cold. Damn the way Tom is looking at you right now. Just where the hell is your coworker, or Tom’s guide for this event?  

Once again his gaze is shifting to your outfit, this time he definitely isn’t looking at your lanyard. “You look amazing, by the way. But – are you cold?” He’s noticed your goosebumps and is in motion, hands out of his pockets and already halfway out of his jacket by the time he finishes asking the question. “Here…”

You can’t voice any sort of protestation before his jacket is over your shoulders. Refreshing warmth of his residual body heat and the masculine smell that you’re not going to be able to shake out of your head for ages washes over you. “Oh. Oh. Thank you, Tom.”

Chivalrous act number what, now? Maybe it isn’t all an act for those observing. Maybe he really is just this charming. Maybe you have fallen victim to _The Hiddleston Effect_ after all.

“I can’t believe you’re out here without a jacket.” He marvels, adjusting how his jacket sits over your shoulders. For a second you think he’s going to button you into it.

You keep your eyes down, watching his fingers flit over the fabric, “Ah, good. You missed that part.”

“What part?”

Shaking your head, you look up at his curious quirk of his eyebrows. “Embarrassing enough that you saw me trying to eat my pass.” It’s hidden beneath his jacket now, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from drifting down a moment to the approximate location where your bite-mark laden credentials hang. From within the warmth of the jacket you snag the inside of the lapel with your fingertips and give it a gentle tug to ensure it stays in place.

Your coworker has finally made it through the crowd, puffing as he hurries over to where you’re standing. Tom seems more than happy to dawdle and allow himself to be photographed. For every one snapshot acquired where he is looking at your coworker’s camera there are two of him looking in your direction. You’re definitely going to hear about this later on the way back to your coworker’s car.

“Tom! Tom! Pardon me – Tom!” Ah – here comes the arrival of an unfamiliar face – Tom’s apparent chaperone for the evening, who has evidently finally realized that leaving Tom to meander on his own towards the building is ill advised. “Tom, time to be going in – need to be shown to our seats. _Watching_ the premiere was the point, wasn’t it?”

Though he has turned to acknowledge the young man’s presence, Tom doesn’t move to start walking in the direction the other is indicating. He swivels back to fix that intense focus on you once more. “Scott, I’d like you to meet ________. The writer behind that article that was published about a month ago.”

You’ve been hidden from view, courtesy of your coworker and the awning supports that periodically dot the sidewalk along the building. You shift your arm out from under Tom’s jacket as you take a step and offer Scott your hand.

“Hello. Pleasure.” Scott shakes your hand, dutifully nodding and accepting the greeting. Then he blinks and recognition of the particulars of the introduction hit him. “The article. Oh! You know he’s talked about that interview with all of us who’d listen. He’d do a follow up with you lot, I bet.”

“But, only with you.” Tom adds a caveat to the statement. This, another offering to sit down and delve into the intimate details of his life, from the supposedly _elusive_ Tom Hiddleston.

That’s something to mull over. But you’re trying to keep from blurring the lines between professional and personal interest. Meanwhile here’s Tom trying to spend more time with you. “Well…”

Your coworker jumps at the news. “Yea? Just transitioned to a new editor. Sure Sam’ll jump at the chance to have you appear in the publication again, Tom.”

“Excellent. So. We’ll get it all lined up. Later. Movie time.” Scott is trying to guide Tom on, and Tom nods to him but doesn’t move to follow.

You start to maneuver yourself out of his jacket. You’ll be staying out here until all the celebrities are inside and then the first half of your night is over, only to pick up again to interact with those that choose to dawdle after the movie releases. Another of your coworkers is already inside, their assignment being to attend and review the movie. “Thank you for the use of your jacket, Tom. And we’ll see what Sam says about…”

“You’re not coming in?” Evidently the thought hadn’t occurred to him that your attendance might be limited to the carpet only. Poor Scott is standing there powerless to get Tom moving. “Not going to watch the movie?”

You quickly shake your head _no_ while trying to disentangle your lanyard from his jacket. The lanyard has gotten hooked around one of the buttons and refuses to come loose. As you fiddle with the ribbon of the lanyard you lament the loss of the warmth around your shoulders. No more fabric to block the wind. No more subtle spice of aftershave. “Erm. No. I might – catch another showing – when it hits theaters – later – or something.”

Tom is the one to finally manage to unsnare the button of his jacket from your lanyard. He’s got his jacket gripped by the collar, still not in a hurry to leave. “What? They make you stand out here in the cold and wait until the showing is over?”

He’s about to insist you take his jacket back, or invite you in and boot poor Scott, or some other wild suggestion that hasn’t yet occurred to you. You motion to your coworker, speaking up before Tom continues, “No. No after your lot goes inside we will run and grab something to eat before coming back for interviews afterwards. Maybe squeeze in a bit of work – go ahead and get a start on our coverage of the first portion of the event. Someone else is in there to review the movie.”

Surely Tom knows all this about the business. Surely he’s noticed that the person that does the reviews does exclusively that and that alone. Someone else. Someone thankfully not you. It gives you a chance to regroup and warm up and – by the time any big revelations in the plot come about you’ll be munching on a bit of much needed food and trying to think of anything other than the way Tom’s eyes sparkle under the bright lights illuminating the carpet before the theater. The way he’s lingering, you’ll have to try to ensure that you snag a spot where he can’t do the same thing after the movie releases. Or pray that Scott does a better job at wrangling his charge.

“Tom. Our seats aren’t towards the aisle. We need to go or they’ll reassign them.” Scott is trying again with little success. Poor thing.

You join in with the effort, “Go on. We’ve got to get back to our interviews.” At least your coworker can still snag photos of those passing by, but Tom is keeping you busy.

“There are probably still seats available. They keep extras for the press, don’t they?” Tom isn’t giving up. It’s to the point you’ve started taking a few steps to almost lead him, via the conversation, to the doors.

Your coworker is trying to do his job and stick with you, not wanting to miss any of the exchange for reasons of office gossip later. Oh joy. Scott looks extremely grateful that the group is finally moving in the right direction. You’d be better off further away from the building but that can be remedied after Tom is inside. You’ll go back and try to snag a few more pre-movie interviews from the latecomers. “We need the time to get food.”

“I’ll take you to dinner. Both of you.”

Your photographer grunts. A nice meal on Tom’s bill? You strike that down quickly, “ _And_ our job is out here. Are you trying to get me into trouble with my new boss? Sam may like me now, but if I come back with only half the amount of interviews I’m supposed to it’ll be a different story.”

Tom lets out a peal of laughter, “No! Not at all. I could always help snag a few friends if that will put me back in your – and Sam’s – good graces?”

Annoyed at his persistence or no, his laughter brings out a smile. Damn him. “No. You’re here to support your friend and _watch his movie_. Do that. Enjoy your night. And thank you again for the use of your jacket.”

You turn to note someone that your photographer has spotted so you don’t see Tom ultimately walk into the building. Slowly the crowded carpet thins, and then empties of all but the media and fans that are determined to wait throughout the showing of the movie. Time to haul ass to find food and get back before the movie lets out again. You consider popping inside to the coat check to retrieve your jacket but decide on braving the cold a bit longer rather than waste time in line just for that added layer. You only need to stop by your coworker’s car to snag your card to pay for whatever food the pair of you end up grabbing.

Next time? The jacket stays in the damned car. Or you’ll finally get something that won’t need to be removed for “aesthetic reasons”.  You’re in the middle of stuffing something warm and overloaded with carbs and fat when the sound of your ringtone greets your ears. Your phone has been stuck in your coworker’s suit coat all night as you didn’t exactly have a place to keep it. It also keeps you from habitually checking the thing for news updates.

The caller ID lists your offices – which can only mean one thing. You answer and start talking before Sam can get a word of greeting out, “Just grabbing food and then we’re back there. Everything’s going great – and if you happen to hear anything about it I promise I’ll get a better jacket for next time. Assholes don’t—“

“_______ I just got off a call with someone representing Tom Hiddleston.” If you’d been trying to swallow anything you would have choked upon hearing what Sam had to say. His question follows your stunned gulp of air. “Did you promise him another article?”

“No – I wouldn’t…” It almost sounds like Sam is mad. Fuck, you should have called the moment you found a quiet spot. “I know that you sell the space and plan out each issue, Sam. Tom’s here tonight. Obviously. And Tom said, well it was suggested that Tom was interested in a follow up.” In the back of your mind you’re wondering: _Just how the fuck did he get someone on the phone with Sam so fast?!_

Your coworker has stopped shoveling food into his mouth to listen in to the conversation. Easier to hear the goings on when you’re not crunching on fried food. More fodder for the water cooler tomorrow.

Sam’s laugh catches you off guard. “Well it appears you’ve made an impression. Seems Tom really only wants to do it if you’ll do the interview again.”

“Yea.” You exhale slowly. Here it comes, the assignment that is going to test your resolve. Someone up there must be laughing their ass off.

“I told them I’d give them an answer after talking to you, that you were out on assignment but we would let them know.” That’s certainly not the way your old boss would have handled it. Sam’s tenure as head of the magazine will take some getting used to. “_______?”

“Yea, Sam. I’m here.” Another interview. Another one-on-one session. This has _BAD PLAN_ written all over it. What are you, anyway – part of his PR team? “Do you want me to do it?”

There’s a beat of silence in which you imagine Sam is moving to lean back in his chair and throw his heels up to balance them on the edge of his newly claimed desk. “It wouldn’t hurt sales. That’s for sure. Ultimately your call – but they told me point blank he’s not sitting down with anyone else.”

Of course not. You close your eyes and silently shake your head very gently from side to side. “Alright.” You hear yourself reply, halfway marveling that the words are coming out of your mouth. The smell of Tom’s cologne makes you blink your eyes open again to stare at your mostly consumed meal. Probably a phantom scent, still lingering in your short term memory, the result of briefly wearing his jacket. This is such a bad plan. It’s basically a neon flashing sign within your head.

“Excellent.” You can hear Sam’s quick movements, the squeak of his chair as he rights himself, the thump of his feet hitting the floor. “Give him a heads up, if you want. I’ll call back and get the details ironed out with them tomorrow.”

“Ok.” You stare at your phone a minute after hanging up wondering why exactly you’d agreed to doing the thing you knew you shouldn’t. And then it’s time to move again. Time to hurry back to your post on the carpet and pray that Scott keeps a certain someone on task – or better yet, hope that Tom needs to be elsewhere and can’t stay to chat afterwards.

You’d have had better luck wishing wings to sprout from your back.

Tom “I’ll sign it all and you can’t stop me” Hiddleston. Scott at least keeps at his elbow, ensuring he stays focused on the faithful fans that have remained outside. You’re at a decent spot to observe the carpet and catch a fair few of the celebrities as they’re heading towards the queue for their cars. You catch him turning once or twice but you’re so busy ensuring you earn your keep – also known as trying to make sure you’re not caught looking at him – that you can’t tell if he’s actually spotted you or not.

Scott is doing a remarkable job at keeping Tom on task. Tom may just have to find out about the second interview tomorrow via his people. It isn’t like he’d know all the particulars of his schedule anyway. The next time you sneak a peek in his direction he’s turned, catches your eye, and gives you a short conspiratorial nod. Oh there goes your heart, flipping within your chest.

Alright yes, you’ve seen him and he’s seen you. Focus on the work. A few interviews in you start to notice a trend. People you know to have worked with Tom in the past are stopping for a brief word -- people that seem to skip some of the other journalists milling about but pause when they note the publication in large typeset on your badge.

The thing that seals it for you is when Tom Hardy walks past – and while looking over his shoulder lets out a jump-worthy “oi!”, while not so discreetly motioning towards the journalist standing on the other side of you. You follow his eye line catching the exchange between the two men.

_THIS ONE?_ Hardy stops pointing to give a questioning thumbs up.

Tom shakes his head, motioning back with his own short series of hand signals and mimed words. _NAH, MATE. SHE’S THE O--_  He blinks when he realizes you’re witnessing the interaction, then shrugs, and gives you a sideways smile.

“Son of a –“ You try to bite back the smile trying to form as you mutter to yourself, then you shake your head at him and mouth out the words: _STOP. IT_.

He points at himself, feigning innocence and mouthing a set of words right back at you. _WHO? ME?_

You give your head another shake and press your lips together, turning back to Tom Hardy – who your coworker has already started to engage. Wary of the fact that the two men are friends you’re careful to keep the conversation light and solely focused on reactions to the movie.

While talking to Tom Hardy, your Tom – the thought giving you pause – has ended up moving past your position on the carpet, the result of moving from fan to fan taking selfies and signing artwork and the like. Since the stream of celebrities has started to slacken – most already moving on to their next destination – you seize your chance to call it a night and potentially leave without being snagged by Tom again.

The inside of the theater is quiet, and warm, both attributes very welcome after a night spent subjected to the opposite of both. Your coworker has elected to stick with you, walking with you to retrieve your jacket from the coat check rather than meeting you at his car. You know better than to believe his pretense – concern for your safety – he’s banking on the fact that something else will happen to further fuel the office gossip tomorrow… As though there isn’t already enough fodder to last them for eons.

The queue takes longer than you’d like – you can feel the odds of slipping away unnoticed decreasing with each passing minute. The attendants are moving as quick as they can to match up tickets, possessions to owners. You keep your eyes on the screen of your phone to keep the idle chatter with your coworker to a minimum. You _know_ he wants to ask about the more than obvious flirtations you received from Hiddleston and tried not to return, but anything you say will just add to speculation. Better to keep quiet.

Jacket retrieved, you’re in the process of exiting the building when your coworker slows his steps and laughs, “Ha! I knew it!”

“Knew what?” He has stopped just before the large glass doors to the building. You sidestep to avoid colliding with him and in so doing are able to see around him, noticing Scott preparing to come inside with Tom right on his heels.

Upon seeing you Tom’s expression clears. “_______.” He looks to his companion a moment, “See, Scott? She is still here.”

Of course. You’ve given him ample opportunity to look up from his task and realize you were no longer present among the journalists lingering on the carpet. You should have just left the jacket to be relegated to the rubbish bin. You reach out to touch your coworker’s shoulder and push him into motion again, “Yes… but only just. Again, it was good to see you, Tom.” Your coworker is holding his ground, determined to see this play out.

“Oh,” Tom’s smile falters. “But it’s early yet.”

For _him_ , maybe. Late night parties, awards shows, shoots that last well into the morning – all of which he admitted to at your first meeting. He is used to a lifestyle very different than yours. Ignoring the late nights you spend working on articles you usually are snuggled in bed at this point.

“You haven’t even told me if you liked the flowers I sent.”

**_I_** sent. He could still be referring to someone in his camp doing it for him – could be – but you know he isn’t. Damn it.

Your coworker is giddy, replying for you and loving every damn minute of it. “Oh yea. She kept them at her desk for days before taking them home.”

Traitor!

Tom lights up at the news, pulling a smile from you in response even as you try to fight against it. “Well – yes. The flowers were beautiful, Tom. Thank you.” You renew your attempts at pushing your coworker out the door and actually succeed into moving the pair of you out into the night air.  Scott and Tom follow – your coworker dallying, you trying to keep moving towards the car.

Tom turns, noting the shouts of his name, but doesn’t stop walking alongside you. “They survived a few days then, at least. The florist _said_ they would but…”

“I’m sorry, Tom.” You cut him off before he can get fully wound-up on the subject, “I should have sent you a note thanking you right after receiving them.”

“Are you really leaving? You could – think of all the interviews to be had at one of the after parties.” He’s determined to get you to spend more time in the same vicinity, even if it would keep him from being able to have a conversation with you.  

You laugh, “Oh no – no more interviews tonight. Time to transfer the experience into words. Articles don’t write themselves.”  Oh hell. You can’t leave it like that. He looks like someone just told him the Wimbledon final has been delayed until further notice because of the rain. “I look forward to hearing all about the mischief you find at the after parties during our next interview.”

And just like that he brightens. “The next one?”

“Yea.” Tom has stopped walking forcing you to look back over your shoulder as you continue on your way to your coworker’s car. You wink at Tom before waving a final goodbye, “We’ll spend some time on the things we skipped last time. Sam’ll be in touch with your team to figure out when.”

If he would stop being so disconcertingly earnest you might still have a chance at battling back against _The Hiddleston Effect._ Nope, who are you kidding? Your head just hasn’t caught up to the fact that your heart is **gone**.

 


End file.
